Might Not Never
by Random-Battlecry
Summary: He's kissing her an awful lot, this dream around. Much much postDoomsday, no spoilers for anything else. 10Rose.


Title:Might Not Never

Author: Random Battlecry

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Rose/10, Rose/Other

Summary: "I never should have said never," he told her steadily. "I never should have told you it was impossible. I did it only with the best of intentions, believe me, and I did believe it to be true. But I shouldn't have said it just the same. For my own sake."

Spoilers: Set after Doomsday and actually after series 3 but no spoilers for that, so, just Doomsday I suppose.

Feedback: yes please!

A/N: This is for anyone who wanted Rose to grow up and be her own person. Eventually. Also somewhat inspired by all the Doctor/Rose mentions in series 3.

* * *

After the last fight, or rather, the latest portion of the single ongoing fight they'd had, or had progressively been having over the last three years (it grew on itself, compounded with each new grievance, till it was a single organism made up of many others, like a coral reef) she felt like she could take no more. She'd felt like this before, but never quite to this degree, and she told him as much.

He sat back in his chair and looked at her, his eyes suddenly so full of despair that it hurt her to look at him. They made her feel weighed down. He'd always had a way of conveying, unspoken but definite, that he was capable of far more grief than she could even comprehend; that he was so deep, consequently she could only ever be shallow by comparison. Sometimes this look worked. Now, it just made her even angrier.

"What are you saying?" he asked quietly.

Rose pushed her hands through her hair. She cut it shorter every year, and the tousled spikes weren't leaving her much room for change at this point. She closed her eyes but she could still feel him looking. Sometimes she loved him so much it hurt. Sometimes she hated him, but it felt the same.

"I'm going to bed," she said softly, deciding against a path that would lead to throwing things. If she didn't look at him, she was less likely to want to kill him; so with her eyes still closed she felt her way out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. She undressed in the dark, and pretended she was blind. Everything hard was a comfort for its realism; soft, a torture, and when she lay down at last she nearly cried from how cold the bed was. She curled herself into a crescent, tucked her face between the edge of the pillow and the first fold of the coverlet, and lay very still for as long as she could.

She thought she must have fallen asleep, because she wasn't aware of the bed dipping under his weight. There was a dimness to the sensation of his movements as he slid an arm around her waist, and with uncharacteristic gentleness moved closer to her warmth instead of drawing her to his. It felt like an apology, of sorts, and she told herself very firmly that she could love him forever as long as she kept her eyes closed.

They lay like that for a while, and she had almost drifted back off to sleep when he started stroking her. Slight, almost absent strokes of his thumb on her lower belly, slipping under her shirt with no particular purpose, and she found it hard to concentrate on falling asleep. She tensed the muscles in her stomach involuntarily, and in response he laid his hand flat out on her skin, fingers splayed, the tip of his pinky just under the waistband of her pajama bottoms. She turned to him then, remembering to keep her eyes shut, and kissed blindly over ear and throat and underside of chin and side of nose until she corrected her wayward course to his mouth (which was open anyway) and found a taste that was not Ben's.

"That was a bit unexpected," said a voice that was not Ben's either.

She opened her eyes at this point; stared in shock at the wide brown ones looking back at her. Ben's were grey-blue and narrow as though permanently creased with laugh lines. This was not Ben.

"Mind you," said the Doctor, "not that I'm objecting."

He went up on one elbow and loomed over her for a split second before dipping his mouth to hers and hovering there for a bit; then took action. He kissed her without any apparent hurry, running his thumb along her jaw as though he appreciated how well her face complimented and fit with his, pulled a long slow finger along the outlie, back up the center of her throat, up her chin into her mouth, hooking her, capturing her chin in the rest of his outstretched fingers. She wasn't sure how she could ever have felt shallow. If she were shallow, she could never have been this full.

He let her go at last, but kept his closeness, unable or at least unwilling to back away. She let out a long breath and licked at the corner of her mouth. The Doctor half closed his eyes, watching her from under heavy lids and lashes.

"I see," she said. "I see how it is."

"Do you?" he said. "I'd always hoped you did. Whether or not I actually— other than the times that we—"

"You're not real," she told him firmly, laying a finger across his lips. "This isn't happening. _You're _not happening. This is a dream. You're not real."

"You sound as though you wish that were true," he said, sounding hurt.

"Its not a matter of wishing," she said. "Not anymore. You're a figment of my imagination and that's that. I don't know why of all times you pick now to show up, but I have a sneaking suspicion its to do with the way I feel about Ben at this point—"

"_Ben_," he said, incredulously enough that she stopped talking and narrowed her eyes at him. "Is Ben the bloke with the cigarette lighter and the frizzy blond hair?"

"Of course he is. Which only proves my point. You're in my head, you're just a dream of mine, else how would you know that? Ben's lovely, he really is, and I do love 'im, and the only reason he's sitting in the living room at the moment instead of in here making dreams like you unnecessary is that we had a fight."

"Don't know about that, sitting in the living room," muttered the Doctor. "He was on his way out when I got here, headed to the pub. I shouldn't wonder, especially if you're fighting." He narrowed his eyes and leaned over her again, concern on his face. "Why are you fighting, Rose?"

"You ought to know," she said grumpily, reluctant to discuss it, even with her subconscious.

"Right, right. In your dreams, figment of your imagination, right. 'Course I do. Just— refresh my memory. Or yours, rather."

She tucked her hand under her cheek and stared at him for a long time. "Oh, Doctor," she said at last. "Its been so long."

He frowned slightly, made an aborted motion towards looking at his wristwatch. "How long, Rose?"

"Since you left me? Twelve years. Since I stopped living with your ghost in front of me every day?" She sighed deeply and rubbed at her eye. "Here I thought I'd been doing so well."

"Well," said the Doctor self-consciously, "the subconscious rarely responds to even the strictest of instructions. My time with you taught me that, if nothing else."

"And you're so real, this time," said Rose, stretching a hand out towards him tentatively. His eyes on hers, he caught it and guided it to his cheek. She ran her fingertips down his jawline, thumbing briefly in the centre of his chin, trailed them upwards and over his mouth to the dip between nose and upper lip, swinging round and up to stroke over the bridge of his finely drawn nose and over this eyelids as he swiftly dropped them closed. She smoothed the edges of his wayward fringe to either side and combed thrice through his hair, running the side of her pointer finger along the shell of his ear.

"I never did tell you how handsome you were, in either regeneration," she said.

When he opened his eyes they were heavy with fire and something else more familiar; when he spoke his voice was a rough whisper, barely controlled to send it above the inaudible.

"Oh, there's all _sorts_ of things I never did tell _you_, Rose."

She smiled for the first time, and he bent again to kiss it, harder and hotter this time, less like he had all the time in the world and more like he was holding time at bay, at the end of his outstretched arms.

When he let her go she was breathless, and he said, "Ben? Really?"

She laughed a little, not having breath or strength for more. "Ben," she agreed. "D'you know what he did? He let me grow up, Doctor, never mind all the time it took. Davey wanted to keep me young— he was older himself, my boss at Torchwood, and it was all terribly illicit, this proper gentlemen with a shock of white hair and a youthful face making suggestions about desks. Kevin was a bit younger, more studious, wore glasses and didn't get the point of the Sunday comics but _such_ a good kisser. And Ben, well— Ben let me be myself and loved me for it, kissed my mum's hand and offered my dad beer and taught my little brother to do a handstand and he didn't remind me of you at all, which I thought boded well for our continued relationship."

The Doctor shrugged and had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well," he said with a slight cough, "if he's so great as all that, why then the fighting?"

"Why is it I should need to tell you?" she said, obstinately.

"Just tell me, Rose."

She looked at him seriously. "You, of course."

He raised his eyebrows. "Me?"

"You. I went around dreaming about you, about seeing you again, for so long that I made myself a promise. I wouldn't talk about you any more. Wouldn't think about you any more. I'd let your memory die. I thought I was doing rather well, till now."

He nodded, and looked the direct opposite of gratified. "Right. Well— an admirable sentiment. No sense boring people with stories they wouldn't understand, after all— its only _me_, goodness knows _I'd_ be a bore after a while— so this causes fights, then?"

She sighed once more, let her eyes drop closed. "He says I'm shutting him out. Says he's willing to love me, even if I was in love with someone else— even if I still am. Says he wants to love all of me and I won't let 'im."

"I see," said the Doctor, and sounded as though he actually did. He frowned thoughtfully. "And do you love him, Rose, this— Ben?"

She bit her lip and tried to think of words that could express how deeply she felt, but everything she could say about her feelings for Ben, she had at one time said about the Doctor, and she couldn't repeat them to him now, dream or not. She settled on, "Yes."

He pressed his forehead to hers and stared deep into her eyes. She looked back at him till she was looking into the third eye in the middle of his forehead that appeared from this perspective and tried to pulse _yesyesyesyes as much as I loved and love and will love you, always always_ at him.

He said, "I was afraid of that. Or rather, I_ hoped_ so. I _hoped_ that was the case— but I was afraid of it, too." He smiled and chuckled at himself, a bit self-consciously. "I've always been afraid of my companions being able to go somewhere I couldn't follow, or precede."

"Anyhow," she prompted him. "Since we're not really having this conversation— how are you?"

"Oh, me— same old, same old. New adventures, new worlds— same face." He waved a fingertip up and down, indicating his features. "In case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh yes," she said, and grinned. "I noticed. New companion somewhere, tucked away?"

"Well, you could hardly have expected me to bring them along, would you, intimate dream like this? If nothing else, what you do instead of saying 'hi' would have knocked them for a total loop."

She laughed. "But you're not alone. I'm glad."

"Oh no. Haven't been alone for quite some time now," he assured her, and his expression was hardened somewhat. "You know me. Always moving on."

She stared at him. "What are you doing _here_, then?"

The look on his face would have broken her, had she thought any of this was real. He looked suddenly exposed, hollowed out, all defenses down, and desperate. The look made her want to put a hand over his eyes, protect him till he could get the wall back up. But she couldn't; she twined her itching fingers together under her chin and gazed at him wide-eyed, watched him struggle to compose himself. At last he managed to swallow and said, hesitantly, "I always like to be sure. I rarely am, but I always _like_ to be. I needed to know that you were okay, and— Rose, how do you know this is a dream? That I didn't find a way back to you?"

"Because I've had enough dreams like it to recognize them," she answered matter-of-factly. "Because you said it could never happen."

"Ah," he said softly, and swallowed. "Well, then, Rose, seeing as this is a dream, I just needed to know that you're alright. Which, clearly you are. More than alright. You're quite, quite, quite clearly—"

She kissed him before he could say, "Fantastic," put her hands open like a flower on either side of his face, pushed her tongue into his mouth and made him know that whatever he was, she was real. She was there. She was substantial, warm, living, breathing. She worked deep enough to steal his breath, hard enough to jumpstart his hearts, but never enough to make him any more real to her.

She said, "I don't suppose I'll ever stop loving you."

He said, breathlessly, gratefully, "I don't suppose you will either."

She tucked her face in the crook of his neck, put her arms around him, felt his double quicktime pulse on her parted lips and watched his throat move as he swallowed and spoke. He accepted her willingly into his arms.

"There's no me in this universe, then? We never did find that out, but I was curious."

"No," she told his Adams' apple, "just like there was no Rose, there's no Doctor here."

"And not going to be one, apparently," he mused, disappointed. "Rose, wouldn't you think I was brilliant if I found a way?"

"Of course I would. But I think you're brilliant anyway," she said loyally. "Besides, I'm not sure I'd like to explain Ben to the real you."

"No? Why not?"

"I just—" She found that once she'd embarked on this line of reasoning, there was really no way of finishing it that didn't make her sound rather conceited. "I just don't think you'd be very happy," she finished lamely.

"What? Why—" He put her a little ways away from him so he could see her face, then searched her eyes and didn't seem entirely pleased with what he found there. "Rose. You know if you were happy, it would only make me happy. That's all I want— you to be happy. Really happy. You thought I would be jealous?"

"Yeah, sort of," she admitted, eyes downcast.

"Well, and perhaps I would be," he admitted in turn. "But not so much as to be tempted to _spoil_ — well, maybe _tempted_ to, but not actually _do_ anyth— well, nothing _drastic_." She looked up to see him smiling, and smiled back, which was probably what he was going for. "Anyway, its me in your dream now, isn't it. Lets see Mr. Ben top that."

"Oh, I dream of Ben from time to time," she said, archly. "Sometimes even when he's lying right here. Its comforting, somehow. Perhaps because I know, when I wake up—"

"He'll be here," he finished. "That, I understand. He's real, he's tangible, he's physical, he doesn't strand you in alternate dimensions—"

She frowned slightly. "I'm not— you didn't strand me, Doctor."

"Do you mean that, Rose? Really?"

"Yes." And she did; it had been a long time since she last felt stranded, or abandoned, or even any despair. She'd long ago seen that the good in her life outweighed the bad. The truth of her thoughts showed in the simplicity and unthinking spontaneity of her answer, and the Doctor smiled, a little wonderously.

"That's what I'm here for," he said. "That's what I wanted to know. Really, I— Rose, if you had a choice, who would you— oh, no no no, _strike_ that. Forget I asked. Its absolutely not fair and I—"

She smiled and pulled him close again. "I submit that I don't have to answer that, on the grounds that you are my subconscious mind and you know my answer already."

"I suppose I do," he said with extreme reluctance. "Though— I don't think I've ever heard of you doing that before."

"What?"

"Submitting."

She smiled with her eyes closed and didn't answer. The Doctor kissed her instead.

"You're doing that an awful lot, this dream around."

"Can't help it," he murmured against her lips. "I've gotten attached. We should have done this more often in real life, Rose— when you weren't possessed and neither of us were about to die—"

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "There's something you've never had in my dreams."

"What?"

"Regret."

"Oh." He looked pensive. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Mm," said Rose, and pushed closer to him again. He let her, kissed her lightly a few more times and then rested his lips on her brow. He linked his fingers through hers and rested their hands just over the far side of her hip. His other hand, stretched around to the back of her, began to wander underneath her shoulders, the tips of his fingers tracing a path up her arm and down her back to her waist, back up her side and along the outer curve of her breast, smoothed palm down over it without lingering and down again. She prodded his shin with her foot.

"Oh, its that kind of dream, is it?"

"I don't know," he said, startled. "You sound familiar with the process."

"It wouldn't be the first time," she allowed. "Doesn't ever happen here, though, not in my bed for some reason."

"Loyalty to Ben, I expect," the Doctor suggested.

"Yes," she said, uncertainly.

"But I am a dream," said the Doctor, reasonably, "and as such, I'm not really being 'disloyal' am I? I'm a sort of cheater's adultery, aren't I? Tell you what though—" and with a hand on her shoulder he stilled her lips' assault on his collarbone, tilting her chin up to make her look at him. "I never should have said never," he told her steadily. "I never should have told you it was impossible. I did it only with the best of intentions, believe me, and I did believe it to be true. But I shouldn't have said it just the same. For my own sake."

"I forgive you," she murmured. "Now come here."

"Oh, I wasn't _apologizing_," said the Doctor hastily. "Far from it. I did exactly the right thing. In fact, I probably saved your life by it, Rose Tyler, or— Mrs. Ben, or whatever, and I'll thank you to remember that even if this is a dream, which, as you say, it is. If I hadn't said it was impossible, would there be a Ben? Would Ben exist? Twelve years _really_?"

"Twelve years really," she said, not quite sure what else to venture, as thoroughly discombobulated as she was what with his topical revertions and presence and hand on her side once more, thumb doing that slow stroking that made her melt.

"Mm," he said distantly. "It hasn't been that long for me. You're thirty two, Rose Tyler, or Mrs. Ben, or whatever." He grinned. "Give or take a few million years. You've grown up."

"That I have," she agreed. "That I have, at last. Now what, Time Lord?"

"Now," he said carefully, looking at her mouth, "it is as up to you as it has always been."

She thought they fell asleep together— it went down in her mental inventory as "and then we fell asleep together"— except of course she'd been asleep the entire time.

* * *

She awoke to Ben and his eyes apologizing as his mouth stumbled to find the right words. She sat up and pushed her morning hair out of her eyes, noting that it seemed to have grown more than was customary for one overnight. 

"You were out all night?" she interrupted, catching part of Ben's disjointed odyssey. "I thought—"

"No, I'm sorry, Rose, love. Its just— after we talked— I just couldn't stand the idea that—" He got on his knees on the bed beside her, and nuzzled into her hair. "Rose, tell me if you love me or not."

And that was Ben, she thought, closing her eyes. Three years they'd been together and he was still allowing her the choice of whether to love him or not. While all the time, she knew, intending to love her no matter her answer.

Perhaps he did remind her of the Doctor after all. Just a little.

She wrapped her arms around him. "I love you very, very much," she told him, and kissed his ear.

"I was at the pub," he told her with that kind of compulsive honesty that was characteristic of him. "Mickey was there; we had a good commiseration over women. Ended up on Mickey's couch, since he offered. Meant only to stay till my headache lifted, and then it was morning and it was still there." She responded to this hint by massaging his temples and the base of his neck till he let out a happy sigh. "Now I know I'm forgiven."

"You're forgiven," she confirmed, and he smiled.

"Oh! Rose. Incidentally. I met some bloke, said he knew you— or used to know you, he seemed rather confused as to which."

"Down at the pub?" she prompted, and he made a noise of demurral.

"Mm, no actually. Just outside the flat, I was taking out a cigarette and asked him for a light and he offered me a torch. A _torch_, Rose, just pulled it out of his pocket and clicked it on, wordless. Lucky I remembered I had my lighter though."

It was the torch that got to Rose. She stilled immediately, and the look in her eyes made Ben stop rambling, sit up and pay attention.

"Tall, was he?" she managed, eventually.

"Yeah, that he was," Ben agreed helpfully.

"Brown eyes, brown suit— big hair?"

"All that. You do know him, then?"

She smiled, so she wouldn't cry. "Used to."

"He said he was going up to make sure you were happy. I said he was welcome to it and I was off to the pub. Last I saw he was trying to peer in the spyhole. Did he get to you, Rose?"

"Yeah," she said, and nodded. "He got to me."

Ben sat close to her, peered at her with seriousness in his eyes. "Can you— will you tell me who he is? Will you, Rose?"

Some indefinite thing decided her.

"Ben," she said, "— I knew this bloke, right, and he was called the Doctor. I used to travel with 'im—"

* * *

When Rose had first started to get serious with Ben, she'd told him there were parts of her past that she wasn't going to tell him. He tried to accept it. He wanted to do what he could, if she was hurting. He wanted to help. He wanted to fix it. 

"Never?" he said.

"Never," she told him.

She regretted saying it, now. Nothing quite tempted fate like _never_. Better to say _probably not_, or _might not_, or _maybe_. Better to leave that gap open, like a wormhole in space, like a rift in dimensions, for hope to shine through.

You never know.


End file.
